


Hiding in Plain Sight

by TheWordsInMyHead



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, F/M, Harry Potter Never Went to Hogwarts, POV Ginny Weasley, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWordsInMyHead/pseuds/TheWordsInMyHead
Summary: At 21 years old, nothing has ever been easy for Ginny Weasley so when a mysterious figure walks into her bar late one night, she instantly expects the worse. Little does she know how much the encounter will change her life for the better.





	Hiding in Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt Ginny and Harry meet at a bar over on the Harry and Ginny sub Reddit
> 
> Disclaimer I’m not British. I tried to sound British. I think I ended up sounding really not British. If there are any British people reading this, I apologize. If you have any opinions on how to make it better let me know in the comments. That goes for British and non-British people. Thanks.

It’s a slow night in the bar, the kind of night that allows for too much thinking. 

Since the start of her shift hours ago, she’s only had two customers, one of which turned around and walked straight out when they saw the state of the place. Now it’s nearing midnight and Ginny can‘t help feeling an inescapable restlessness; there’s only so much fruitless polishing of glasses she can do before giving it all up as a lost cause. She hates these kinds of nights. 

In the silence she can almost hear her mother’s disappointed voice asking her what she’s doing, telling her in no uncertain terms that it’s time to move on, to push forward no matter how hard it might seem. While Mrs. Weasley may be the only one who openly disapproves of the way Ginny has chosen to live her life these last few years, it’s clear that her father, her brothers, her friends who wonder where she’s gone, all have similar thoughts. 

She shouldn’t complain about the emptiness, not really. The dingy and rather unappealing atmosphere of this establishment tends to deter most people from entering which is exactly why she decided to work here in the first place. Now a days she does her absolute best to limit her interactions with the wizarding population of Britain. 

Still, when the door opens revealing a man in a dark cloak, she instantly perks up. Or at least perks up as much as she ever does which really means she stops leaning against the top of the bar and doesn’t scowl at the newcomer when he takes a seat at the far end of the bar. 

“What can I get you?” she asks walking up to him. 

“Firewhiskey.” 

She can feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise as she gets closer. The unease only increases as she pours the drink and places it in front of him. There’s something vaguely off-putting about this guy, like he’s not quite who he appears to be. 

Looking closer she is quickly able to see the telltale signs of a glamour around his hair. And a bad glamour at that. The light colour of his hair completely contrasts with the dark five o’clock shadow covering his jaw. 

Rationally she knows that mismatched hair colouring doesn’t mean danger, but it’s been her ability to notice these little details and trusting her instincts that have kept her alive this long. And patience. Patience is important too. 

Causally moving over to the other end of the small space, she slowly and stealthily slides her wand into her hand, content for now, to just watch him. Over time she’s learned that it never pays to make a hasty first move. 

As she observes him carefully out of the corner of her eye while fiddling with the bottles in front of her, she feels something tickle the edge of her mind. Not a legilimens attack or anything like that, but a memory. Something about the way he is sitting hunched over his drink seems familiar. 

It takes a few moments, but eventually her brain fills in the missing pieces. Black hair replaces the blond, a wire rimmed pair of glasses are added and a lightning bolt scar. 

Harry bloody Potter is sitting in her bar on a Tuesday at midnight with a terribly applied glamour. Ginny prides herself on expecting the unexpected, but even she never saw this coming. 

Most people instantly relax when they realize that Harry is around, confident that he will protect them from any danger that may show up. The remaining few keep their guard up ready to protect him. Although Ginny slides her wand back into its holder on her arm, she remains vigilant. There’re no guarantees, she knows that better than most. He could just as easily attack her as anyone else. 

Still, his true identity explains the glamour. 

Slowly her adrenaline goes down until eventually she is left in the position she started in, bored with too much time on her hands. 

She makes no move go talk to him, content to let him have the anonymity he is clearly looking for, until the chime above the door goes off signalling more customers. 

“You’re going to need a better glamour if you want to hide from them,” she says pointing to a group of intoxicated women currently stumbling their way toward the bar. 

She’s knows that she should probably try to keep the judgmental look off her face, her boss has told her many times it’s unprofessional, but she can’t help it. How stupidly naïve are these witches walking around in this part of town at this time of night, sloshed. Just because they won the war doesn’t mean that all the danger suddenly disappeared. 

A terribly acted, confused huh brings her attention back to the patron in front of her. 

“Well I’m presuming that the platinum blond hair is a disguise and not a life choice” she says without any fuss. 

Across from her she can see him instantly tense up, eyes darting back and forth like he’s planning an escape. Actually, knowing who he is, he might really be planning an escape. 

He ducks his head further into his collar as if that does anything to help. 

She’s surprised that he isn’t better at this, he should be with all the unnecessary attention he gets. 

Although it’s well hidden, she can see him tense further as the group gets closer. For some inexplicable reason that makes her feel better, knowing that she’s not the only one who still feels uncomfortable at the presence of an unfamiliar wand. 

Maybe the unexpected feeling of comradeship is what prompts her next statement, she’s not normally so generous with anyone, let strangers, even if they are the supposed saviour of the wizarding world. 

“Want my help?” she offers, subtly gesturing to his face. 

He looks her up and down, gauging her trustworthiness. She resists the urge to tap her foot impatiently, with every second he hesitates the group gets closer and her ability to do anything without being noticed lessens.

“If I wanted to do something to you, I would have just poisoned your drink,” 

Her logic must be enough to convince him because after a moment he nods giving his approval albeit a little reluctantly. For her part she’s thankful that he agreed so quickly. She’s good at glamours, really good, but there’s no way that she would be able to change much without them noticing if they were any closer. 

Without another thought she gets to work, sliding her wand back into her hand she whispers the enchantment under her breath. 

She starts off by changing the tone of his hair to a dirty blond, much more natural. She slightly lightens his eyebrows and facial hair so that they don’t stand out. From there it’s just small changes, she makes his cheeks a little fuller and his eyes a little slimmer. 

When she’s finished, she steps aside allowing him to see his reflection in the backsplash behind the bar. 

Ginny can’t help letting a little smirk slide through her carefully crafted indifference at his reaction. She's good. He looks nothing like Harry Potter now 

With the threat of further discovery gone for the moment, he relaxes a little. Then he’s looking over her again like she’s a puzzle he doesn’t quite understand. 

“Err you don’t feel the need to, I don’t know, thank me or anything?” he asks awkwardly. 

Ginny can feel her eyebrow rising of its own accord. What kind of world has the boy lived in where the mere idea of people not falling over themselves to thank him is foreign? If he didn’t seem so completely uncomfortable at the prospect, she thinks she would instantly dislike him. She still might. 

“Do you feel some uncontrollable urge to thank me?” she responds ruthlessly. 

For a second he looks around nervously, unsure and then gestures to his glass in front of him, “thanks.” 

She lets out an involuntary sound at that, half way between a scoff and a chuckle. She shouldn’t be surprised that he doesn’t recognize her, from what she can tell their paths only crossed the once and that day both of them had more important things to focus on. Plus, unlike him, her disguise is good. 

“I used to have long red hair,” she tells fiddling with her chin length dark brown locks giving him a clue. 

Even with the hint, she isn’t expecting the look of recognition that passes over him. 

“Bloody hell!” he exclaims loudly attracting the attention of the women at the other end. Then more quietly, “you were there.” 

She hesitates for a second before nodding slowly. Across from her, she can see the memories of that awful day playing back behind his eyes. Memories she’s sure are reflected in her own eyes. 

It’s too much. 

She looks away, busying herself with serving the group who've finally made it to the bar, hoping that that will be the end of it, that he’ll go back to brooding in the corner while she resume pondering the pitfalls of her life, occasionally pausing to take an order or make a drink. 

Apparently it’s not though because when she is forced to come near him again, he continues to speak. 

“I think I’ve met your oldest brother a couple times, Weasley?? You were practically running the resistance at Hogwarts, right? Honestly without your defences in place, I don’t know if we would have held the castle a long as we did, we certainly would have lost more people. The teams you put together— the skill. I’ve seen full fledge aurors who weren’t as prepared— blimey the spells—“ 

She cuts him off with a sharp glare, overly conscious of the group seated not far away. 

When she looks over and sees that one of them eyeing her and Harry suspiciously, she makes a snap decision. They need to leave. Now. 

“Bugger off!” she says moving towards them. 

For a second it seems like one lady in particular is going to challenge the command, but she takes one look at Ginny, who has been told on more than one occasion that she can look quite terrifying, and ushers her friends towards the exit. 

She follows them closely, ignoring an eye roll from one of them. Once they pass the threshold, she shuts the door firmly behind them and flips the closed sign over in on movement. 

“Want to get pissed?” she asks turning back to face Harry, unsurprised that he’s still in the same position. 

He looks back sceptical, eyes traveling over the place. For a minute she’s about to rescind her invitation, offended that he might be judging her ugly little bar, before realizing that he’s not surveilling the place for dirt and grim, but rather weak points in defence. 

“It’s safe,” she assures him moving back towards the bar to pour herself a drink, “I did all the enchantments myself. You can check.” 

She doesn’t wait for his answer before downing the shot. She’s pretty sure that even if he declines, he’s still going to want talk and at this point, there’s not a whole lot she can do to escape, short of hexing him which she’s not ready to do. At least not quite yet. 

He surprises her by, after doing some quick checks, downing his still mostly full glass and then tipping it towards her for a refill. 

Okay then, she thinks filling his glass and then her own, this she can work with. 

Lifting up her glass she motions to cheers with him, “to killing evil tossers!” 

He lets out a surprised snort, “I’ll drink to that.” 

With that second round so close to the first, she can feel the nearly constant ringing in her ears transition into a dull thump. She knows this isn’t a healthy coping method even without everyone telling her, but for now it’s all she’s got. For the first time since Harry figured out who she really is, she feels like she can breathe. The lightness of the alcohol makes it easier to answer his question. 

“It wasn’t just me,” she reminds him fiddling with her empty glass, “we were all just… doing what we had to.” 

“Yeah I get that,” he says softly. 

They lapse in silence, neither not quite sure what to say. It’s not awkward, at least not yet, but Ginny knows that it will be if it drags on too long. With that in mind, she hops on to the bar situating herself so that she’s sitting cross legged a few feet away facing him and then pours herself another drink. 

“How about a game of 20 questions?” she suggests sipping at her drink this time instead of downing it. 

He looks hesitant, not that she can blame him. If she didn’t currently have a bunch of alcohol coursing through her veins, she would probably have never suggested it in the first place. For once she just wants to be normal, to be able to play this game like her brothers all did without fear of revealing something too sinister. And really, the only person her age with secrets more dangerous than her is the person sitting across from her. She’s not likely to get an opportunity like this again, she might as well take advantage. 

“How do you play?” 

“Simple. We take turns asking each other questions and if you don’t answer you have to take a shot.” 

She tells him the instructions confidently as though she’s played this game thousands of times, but he must see through her bluster because he remains uncertain. Or maybe uncertain is just his default setting. Growing up she didn’t think the Boy Who Lived would be unsure about anything, but now it makes sense. Everyone is, and if they’re not, they probably should be. 

“Okay,” he says, “but I go first.” 

Even though he made the request, it’s still several moments before he asks his question. “What was Hogwarts like?” 

On the surface it’s a really easy first question, one that would be common coming from any non-Hogwarts student, but the vulnerability with which he phrases the question and his overall hesitance to ask it, makes Ginny think that there is a much deeper story behind it. 

Still she’s not going to lie to him. “Terrible.” 

Her assumptions are proven correct when his face noticeably falls at her blunt answer. 

“But…” He looks like a kid who was just told the Saint Nick doesn’t exist, mouth gapping, eyes searching like she is just messing with him. 

She doesn’t know what to say to make this better for him, she’s not going to take it back, he deserves better than some made up story of class pranks and quidditch games, but she also feels a consuming need to say something to take that defeated look out of his eye. 

“For me,” she amends, “it was terrible.” 

His eyes soften with understanding instantly making her irritable, she doesn’t need anyone’s pity especially not his. Before she can move away, not wanting to see that emotion reflected back at her, he grabs her arm. 

Typically, she doesn’t do well with physical contact. Even after all these years her first instinct when touched unexpectedly is to think that she’s being attacked. She goes right into defensive mood. Flight or fight. 

While she still filches when his hand makes contact, it’s not because she’s afraid. Where his skin makes meet hers she feels a million tiny lightning bolt go off. Although unfamiliar, it’s not unpleasant. If she was a better person, one who believed in love and destiny, she would admit that it was more than nice, but she’s not. At least not yet. 

Pulling her arm away with a jerk, she sends a glare straight at him momentarily forgetting her reluctance to look him in the eye. 

He removes his hand easily, seemingly unbothered by her frosty rejection, nodding his head in agreement. “It probably would have been the same for me to had I gotten to go. It’s just—I grew up on stories of how exciting Hogwarts was, my godfather used to tell this one—“ 

He cuts himself off with a wistful shake of his head. “Anyway, I just always thought of Hogwarts as a happy place—in even though I know it felt the effects of the war, especially later, I hoped that it had been spared for a while.” 

The ruthful simile that he sends her feels Ginny with an indescribable sadness. She sympathizes with him. For years she was forced to watch her brothers board the train off on another grand adventure, just dreaming of the day that she could go with them. 

Unfortunately, for both of them, dreams don’t often turn out to be what you think. 

With anyone else, the mood would be ruined, her harsh truths more than enough to make the room uncomfortable. With Harry, it surprisingly fine. They sit in silence for a while, both reflecting on broken dreams and unfulfilled wishes, slowly sipping on their respective drinks until Harry prompts her to ask her question.

* * *

Several questions and drinks later, Ginny asks “Weirdest scar?” from her position reclined across that bar top in front on him, the nearly empty bottle beside her. 

He lets out a snort, still in his original spot, looking at her like it’s a stupid question before pointing to his forehead as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. 

“Really?” she responds in disbelief. At this point, she’s pretty sure that that scare is actually on poster boards, it stopped being weird years ago. 

“Does a _weirder_ scar exist?” he retorts incredulously 

“Maybe not the weirdest,” she says pulling her shirt up to revel a spider web of raised pink lines covering the right side of body from her hip till about half way up her ribs, “but definitely weirder than yours.” 

“What?” He gasps moving his hand closer so that he’s almost touching her but not quite. 

“A well-cast acerba funera” she responds. Then seeing the shock on his face, she adds, “surprising I know, most Deatheaters can’t aim for shit,” trying to inject some humour into the situation. 

“Isn’t that supposed to be…?” 

“Fatal? Yes. That’s why it left such an ugly scar.” 

“But how?” 

“Lucky I started learning healing charms before the start of my second year so when that hit me at 15 I knew enough to freeze it.” 

He blinks at her a few times and she instantly feels defensive. 

“What? Why I’m I working in this dump, when I was an advanced healer by 15?” 

“I didn’t say anything,” he tells her quickly with his hands raised in a placating manner. 

When she continues to glare, he adds on “really, I don’t need to know. We all things we’d rather not talk about.” 

As she watches him unconsciously rub the scar on his forehead, she lets the sincerity of his words wash over her. Over the years a lot of people have given her a similar out, really expecting to her not take it and then getting angry when she does. He might be one of the few people with memories darker than her. 

It’s easy after that realization to let the dismay fall away, still she doesn’t tell him because she doesn’t have to. There’s simple beauty, an unexpected peace, in that knowledge.

* * *

They continue on for hours, way past those initial 20 questions, alternating between lighthearted banter and deep, dark truths. 

Ginny’s never felt this comfortable with anyone, not even her family. Harry just gets her, he knows when to push for a more truthful answer and when to back off and change the subject. He understands that she has boundaries because he has them too. 

With him around she feels just a little bit less broken and that feeling is addicting. Which makes it especially hard to walk away hours later standing in the ally outside the bar, the morning sun light just starting to push past the thick London fog. 

the longer the silence drags on the more ridiculous Ginny feels. At this point they’ve been talking for hours yet suddenly it’s like neither of them knows what to say. Between the two of them they have faced off against some of the most vile creatures to walk the earth and come out on top, but now a simple conversation seems insurmountable. 

Internally Ginny let’s out an annoyed huff, this is so stupid. She just needs to say something, anything, but it’s like her mouth no longer works. 

For one brief moment when Harry opens his mouth, she thinks that he might ask her to go home with him, it’s what most blokes would do in this situation, and if she’s honest she’d probably go easily, but then he closes it again, likely caught in the same predicament

Eventually he finds the courage to break the silence,“I guess it would be cliché to ask to run away with me?” 

She shakes her head ducking to hide the smile on her face. 

Earlier, around the second bottle of Firewhisky, he’d asked her if she’d ever considered just leaving. Moving somewhere far away and starting new. 

“Almost every moment of everyday,” she told him truthfully. She’s so incredibly tried. Tired of this place, of its people, but more importantly the person she feels she has to be here with them. She knows why she stayed all these years despite everything, her family. As frustrating as she finds them most of the time, they are also the only thing that keeps her going. 

Now though she wonders if they are enough, the offer of a different life tempting, almost too tempting. But ultimately, she stands by her initial rejection, she’s not the kind of girl that runs from her problems even if that’s what everyone thinks she’s already doing. 

“Yeah, I figured” 

She realizes with a start that she doesn’t actually know anything about him, where he lives, what he does. When he asked her about leaving she had wondered what held him here, but maybe there’s nothing holding him here. She’s never seen him before, it would make more sense that he doesn’t live here. The thought sends an unexpected and unwelcome wave of disappointment pulsing through her. 

“I guess I’m just going to have to stick around,” he adds with a self-conscious grin. 

“Yeah” she questions attempting to be causal, but her heart is beating rapidly. For the first time in a long time she feels the faint tendrils of hope flaring in her chest. That scares her, but maybe it’s time for her to embrace some of her fears instead of hiding from them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated


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